


scales & measures

by whatsarasays



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Romance, Between Seasons/Series, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Mutual Pining, Obligatory "That Night" Take, Pre-Resident Evil: Damnation, Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-01-13 07:37:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18464440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatsarasays/pseuds/whatsarasays
Summary: Ada weighed her options.Dilemmas never made for safe investments.





	1. The Exchange

**Prague, January 2011  
**Ada weighed her choices.

Option one: Lay low, blend in. If he hadn't yet noticed her tucked in this corner of the train, he was unlikely to at all. She was a thief, and as such, best practices dictated truancy whenever possible. However, it was risky to underestimate him, no matter how little he appeared to have slept. Option two: Blow it open. Hope no one would have to pay for any collateral damage.

Neither was ideal.

Dilemmas never made for safe investments.

Leon sat a few rows down, staring out at the passing cityscape. The frost-edged window contrasted his form, half-lit in mid-winter gray. A neglected copy of condensed Czech history was splayed open on his lap. His knuckles were skinned and small lacerations were sprayed across his face like freckles. The cut of his wind-chapped, stubble-lined cheeks made him almost unrecognizable from the plucky boy she had worked alongside in Spain. Age still favored him, though, and wear did nothing to mar his looks.

A nameless thing twisted in her chest.

She pretended the latter option was the lesser evil.

Winding her way out from her seat, she made no attempt to stifle the strike of her heels against the cabin floor as she approached.

Leon's head whipped up at the sound, awareness flooding his face. Her name fell from him like an involuntary prayer.

"First time in the Czech Republic?" She settled herself cross-legged in the empty coach chair opposite him.

Instead of answering her question, Leon suddenly twisted in his seat to check his six. The paperback nearly tumbled from his knees, but he caught it without looking as his eyes volleyed to mark the emergency exits and potential escape routes. His free hand patted down the trunk of his shearling coat, undoubtedly feeling for his sidearm.

Taking note, she tried again in gentler hum, "Looking for something?"

"Yeah, the impending apocalypse," he said as he settled back down, spine still taunt. He cased her person, scrutinizing her for any sign or signal of threat.

"I'm not the fourth horseman, Leon."

"You sure about that? Experience says otherwise."

"Despite your suspicions," she slipped off her thick-rimmed sunglasses and hooked them onto her coat collar, "I came over to offer some advice to the 'American tourist' who seems to be visiting Prague."

"You expect me to believe you're here to chit-chat?"

"It's a nice alternative since we both know I hate talking business." Leaning forward, she whispered with conspiratorial sarcasm, "But if we're on the subject: is the U.S. so broke they have to rely on public transportation to get you to-and-from missions now?"

He gave her another once-over before pausing at her face. There was familiar conflict on his brow but it was betrayed by the measured hope in his eyes. A connection long-buried rising to the surface. As they sat in the carriage surrounded by suitcases, long-distance commuters, and beige upholstery, all that they were and had been seemed impossible.

Leon deflated.

"Alright," he dragged a hand down his face, pausing briefly to rub at his temples, "Let's chat. Any suggestions about where I could find a decent lunch once we get in?" 

Ada plucked the paperback from his hand (and ignored his startled grouse of, 'Hey'), "There's a New York-style diner off Senovážné Square you'd like," she dug in her handbag for an ink pen, clicked the end with her thumb, and began scribbling directions on the inner jacket, "but if you want local fare, Bistro Špejle is a short walk from the station. It should be opening just now."

Ada clapped the book shut and held out it out.

It hung in the empty median like a receipt – torn-off and handed over.

Leon accepted it.

Flipping the cover open, he took a moment to study her precise cursive, "Don't want to be my tour guide?"

"You've got time for a tour? I was under the impression you had a pretty unrelenting employer."

"Said the pot to the kettle."

A tinny, robotic voice overhead declared their imminent arrival at the central station.

"Don't worry," Ada retracted the pen nib with another sharp click and returned the item to her black suede satchel, "I'll stay mum about slipping you classified lunch locations. Wouldn't want anyone to know you had been fraternizing with the enemy, would we?"

"You're my enemy?"

"That's always been up to you."

She abruptly uncrossed her legs, stood, and slid back out into the aisle. Tugging her sunglasses from her collar, she began to resettle them onto her face.

"Ada."

She peered at him over her half-placed lenses.

"You hungry?" Leon wagged the book in the air, "I just got fresh intel on some great restaurants."

The bid was presented with a rakish smirk, aware he had tossed a wild card into her game. It caused her pause and left her searching for a retort that wouldn't form. She was under the impression he had no faith in her (which was fair, there was no reason for him to have any), yet he had casually thrown out an offer for – what? Brunch? Whatever the case, it was more illicit than any sultry smile or wink she had ever given him. It was a true play at normality. As if she were just any woman; as if he were just any man.

Her cellphone chimed.

Tugging the mobile from her pocket, she glanced at the screen. It was a text from her employer. She revealed nothing and coolly finished placing her shades, "Sorry, kettle, I'll have to take a raincheck. Work beckons." Pivoting on her heels, she flashed him a back-handed, leather-gloved wave, "Look after yourself, will you?"

His short, "Sure," clipped passed her as she returned to her seat.

The train pulled into the station shortly thereafter. She exited to the platform and blended into the crowd without checking to see where he had gone or if he had tried to follow. She knew he hadn't – not this time.

The variables of this interaction were too divergent from their usual patterns. Like the echoes of the bustling station bouncing off the concrete pillars and vaulted steel, it was throwing her. As the distance between them grew, she felt her pulse spike and plummet like an unreliable stock market, and she tried to take solace in space and separation.

Searching for an anchor, she checked her phone but halted when she read its contents,

_(+420 2): Informant disclosed a DSO agent is on the ground. Status?_

She tapped out a reply,

_(+41 43): I'll get eyes._

Blank-faced, she stared at the display. Analyses and plans stop-started in her brain. Something was else spinning in the calculations, something refusing to be reduced and divided out.

Her hand and the device within it flopped limply to her side.

She cursed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Giving this long-form thing a whirl.


	2. Undervalued & Overpriced

The place was a far cry from Leon’s preferred dive bar—the pre-war crown molding and low-light chandeliers were a bit much—but after an afternoon of picking through tedious debriefs and arguing with public servants, it had been open and nearby. That was all that mattered. In any case, it was comforting. Full of oak and cigarette smoke.

The last assignment had been simple enough: evidence of bioweapons had been found, the perpetrator was an American citizen, and the president sent his personal lapdog—the newly minted DSO—to sweep in, bark loudly, and clean-up as a favor to the Czech Republic. It shouldn't have been complicated. It somehow still resulted in a body count.

His grip threatened to break his glass.

It took effort to let go.

Instead of being amnestic, the drink turned him sour. It didn't help he’d seen someone that morning who did nothing but make him remember.

As if on cue, the soft click of heels behind him announced her return.

Leon shook his head. Picking up the rocks glass, he gave the amber liquid a swirl, and knocked back a gratuitous swig, steeling himself for a conversation with the indomitable Ada Wong. Feeling fortified, he turned to make a quip, but his mouth went dry instead.

A skimming, black slip dress and scarlet mouth greeted him.

He should have been prepared for a light show, but her lavish flashing always seemed to catch him off guard. She was a nest of live wires—a tantalizing, fitful glow but deadly to the touch. There was that familiar rush of curiosity as to what all that thrumming and flickering was hiding. He supposed it was the same fascination which beheld children to electrical sockets.

"Of all the gin joints in the all the world," Leon quoted, pointedly keeping his gaze fixed on her eyes and not the sway of her hips.

"It's a shame you're drinking whiskey in a gin joint then." She stole his beverage out from under him and took an elegant sniff of its contents. She then grimaced and let it drop like a lead weight onto the hardwood, "Is this Jack?"

"It's been a long week. Don't judge a man."

Ada tisked at him, "Well if you won't let me comment on your lack of taste, would you at least let me get you something worth drinking?"

"I don't think so. I'm already in debt. Lunch was great, by the way."

"We can get you on a payment plan."

"Would it include an interest rate?"

"They always do," she replied, settling herself onto the leather stool next to him, before crossing her legs and resting a lanky arm along the counter's edge.

"Speaking of which," Ada gently tapped a forefinger along the tiny nicks smattered across his face, "How did this happen?"

"Work takes its cut," he scoffed into a sip of whiskey, "You should know, pot."

"I might, kettle," she said with a dry smile, "I just might."

The bartender checked-in to request her order and she replied in effortless Czech. From his rudimentary knowledge of the language, he guessed it was a glass of cabernet for her and a pour of top-shelf bourbon for him. Leon didn't fight it. He was trying to choose his battles. "You're not here to give me answers, are you?"

"Don’t be difficult. That's the one question you know the answer to."

"Why'd you come, then?"

Her coquettish front slipped, and a porcelain emptiness stilled her features. It was her tell. Whereas others would fidget and twitch, Ada crystalized. It piqued his attention, and he leaned in with his elbows on the bar.

Her gaze flicked up to him, aware of his study. She began articulating in her distant, considered style as if it were something she had practiced and rehearsed:

"You remember the Cold War? When the Iron Curtain was falling, and the satellite nations were revolting? Czechoslovakia's revolt was bloodless. The significant parts happened in the square right outside. Students led the country in protests. They were peaceful—silent candle-light vigils in the streets. A month after it began, it was over without a bullet fired. They call it the Velvet Revolution."

"Nice story," he said puzzling at her meaning, "Uplifting—especially for you."

"It isn't a story for me," she said as she brushed the cuts along his face once more. The tension in his forehead waned with her sympathetic pass. She then swept a curtain of his too-long bangs behind an ear, “Just know that, eventually, some things work out.”

Leon had to stop himself from following her fleeing hand.

“You don’t even believe that.”

“True,” she admitted, “But I’m not the one knocking back cheap alcohol in a ritzy bar after a rough assignment, now am I?”

The bartender arrived with their order. Ada handed his previous drink to the barkeep and then slid him the pricier alternative along with a piece of stalwart advice, “Enjoy it this time. Don’t drown in it.”

She tapped the rim of her glass against his, leaving the air to reverberate with a high-pitched hum.

Her rebuke stung and left him considering whether he should keep drinking at all, but he pulled the beverage to his mouth anyway. It tasted sweeter and burned with complexity. He rapped his skinned knuckles absent-mindedly against the bar and made a decision, "Tell me more.”

"About what?"

"I don't care."

And she did. More about Prague—its history, its architecture, its art. She colored it with her snide remarks and caustic critiques. Awareness of the beautiful and cultured was somehow slotted between her small arms expertise and piloting chops—dualistic and unexpected, like everything about her. He wondered where she learned it all and knew he'd never know.

Leon was aware she was using neutral facts and aristocratic opinions as proxies for the things she wished to say. It seemed like an ordinary conversation, but it wasn’t. The coding sounded like the apologies of a spy who had nothing of themselves to give, reparations for the connection and honesty she could not afford. He could never be sure, though.

Ada continued her monologue into the recesses of the evening, long after her voice had fried from overuse.

The bartender interrupted them hours later and discreetly informed them it was last call. Ada thanked him and left him with her credit card. When it was returned, Leon snuck a glance at the name emblazoned on the silver plastic. It wasn't 'Ada Wong.'

"Playing a part?" He asked.

"Most days," she shrugged as she signed the check. Rather than properly donning her coat, she slung it around her narrow shoulders like a shawl. The heavy wool made her look small.

As they made their way to the exit, she tugged on her gloves, gingerly adjusting the leather at her fingertips. He zipped-up his coat and followed too close behind. The door swung open into a dark city of ice-encrusted trees and frozen pavement. "Well, shit," she smiled down her higher-than-usual designer heels.

“You seem to manage warzones just fine,” he said as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans to protect them from the numbing chill.

“Perhaps,” she said with a dismissive wave, “but this isn’t a warzone, and I’d rather not slip. I’ll just call a cab.”

"Here," he gruffly offered her his arm, "I'll walk you back."

She dissolved into a mocking laugh. Hooking her arm through his, she took advantage of their closeness and peaked-up onto her tiptoes to croon against the shell of his ear, "Alright, I'll let you play the knight just this once. It’s what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it?"

Unable to stifle a grin, he jerked his head away from her teasing and faked offense, “Hey, now. Old habits die hard.”

Apart from her occasionally offered direction, they didn't speak as they meandered down the street. She had already talked her way through the night, and there was little he could say which she didn't know.

Ada kept perfect balance but stayed pressed against him anyway.

"This is me," she said, finally pausing at the entryway to a small hotel. She looked up to say goodbye, and as they stood on the cobblestone sidewalk, under lamplight with snowflakes on her eyelashes and in her dark hair, all of him ached.

Thank Christ the snow was as dirty as hell from pollution and the day’s traffic. The grime kept him wary but also proved the moment was real. Maybe that was why he was awkwardly lingering in the doorway with her now. Without the urgency of danger or the sting of betrayal, he wasn't sure how to bid her farewell. There was no filth between them to substantiate the night’s existence. No monsters, gore, or gunpowder either.

Leon's eyes fell on the scar which tarnished her décolletage. A mark that attested something real—whatever that something was. It had been meticulously camouflaged with concealer, but he knew where to look. It lived in the mirror of his own scar.

"Don't," Ada hissed as she followed his line of sight, and shielded the imperfection with her hand.

"Why?"

"Because it's ugly."

"No, it’s not." 

"How would you know? You have horrible taste," she bit in return, "Jack Daniels testifies to that."

"Doesn't count. Like I said, long week."

"What counts, then?" Ada sighed in exasperation as he refused to peel his eyes away from the tarnished skin she was trying to hide, “Leon, stop.”

Leon’s eyes ticked up to hers. 

Her expression remained reserved and passive. His gaze went back to linger at the scar near the dip of her collarbone for a final moment. If he were a more certain man, he would have dragged her hand away and smeared her makeup in defiance, wreaking havoc on her extravagant pretense.

Instead, they breathed silent vapors in the cold and remained fixed in their stand-off.

Conceding defeat, Leon licked his lips and let himself step away, “I’m gonna get out of here. Goodnight, A–”

Ada surged up and kissed him. Over a decade of collected questions and stolen glances snapped. He hauled her in by the waist, hands fisting into the silk of her dress. As their mouths rolled, she grabbed his lapels and leaned her weight into him, backstepping him into the brick of the doorway. It knocked the wind out of him, but he refused to come up for air.

They disintegrated into a fumbling mess—too consumed with the effortlessness of their give-and-take to evaluate any of its hidden fees—but somehow managed to get through the door, up the stairs, and into her room. He was desperate to keep her here, in this place where score did not matter. Consequences be damned.

Later, when she was astride him, her mascara running with her own sweat, Leon wondered if she would finally allow them to be more than flat tally marks in her system of scales and measures.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the long-overdue update. This was written three weeks ago and I've just been obsessively fiddling with it ever since. Speaking of editing, a massive thank you to the magnificent [tenienteross](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenienteross/pseuds/tenienteross) for beta-ing this! Everyone go read her work and witness her marvelousness for yourselves.
> 
> To the anon who asked for my in-depth character analysis of Ada: It's up on my [Tumblr,](https://speakingofwhatsarasaid.tumblr.com/post/184988759044/authors-note-there-is-a-lot-of-conjecture-in) friend. I uploaded it earlier than I promised since this was so late. Just buckle-up, because I may have overdone it (i.e – it's very long).


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